


Pilgrimage

by inflame



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Clubbing, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inflame/pseuds/inflame
Summary: Exceptions and distractions. Deities and mortals wreck havoc at the scenery as two become one. A bond was born out of sacrilegious circumstances. The heavens continue to lament.Keiji finally forgets. Koutarou finally prays.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	Pilgrimage

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is my second Haikyuu fic, the first being KuniKage. Honestly, I never thought I'd have BokuAka as my second fic, since I thought that I was not worthy of such a popular pairing (even if they're my otp) but I guess this story just really fits their dynamic (thank you, [Jana](https://twitter.com/gr8breadtender), for helping me think of this pairing). 
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank my catholic education for this opportunity. I'm sorry it had to be like this. 
> 
> Enjoy!

We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,  
my silent night, just mash your lips against me.  
We are all going forward. None of us are going back.  
_-Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain_

\----

His mother taught him about gods. Gods are perfect, they are never wrong. They are beautiful, flaws and weaknesses nonexistent. Perpetually worshipped, given gifts, devotion, souls. They never walk with mortals. They bestow blessings but never step on the ground dirtied by mundane occurrences. Never look them in the eye, never touch, in fear of desecration. Bokuto Koutarou knew about them, gods and all. Transcendental beings loved and feared, and he will take this to his grave, believing in their prowess. 

_And yet._

There are still instances where he deliberately forgets about gods and piety. He puts exceptions, a test to see how far he can will himself to disobey commands, to fulfill human desire. Koutarou is drinking on the second floor, overlooking people against people, trying to buy drinks, trying to dance, trying to find ecstasy in life. He is no different than them, as he is given occasions such as _these_ , where he is inclined to wreck, to cause chaos. He spots a familiar face. A known face belonging to one of the gods, an exception.

Under red neon lights, he looks anything but holy. He blends in with the crowd, perhaps looking for the same things. Be that as it may, a semblance of a halo still forms around Akaashi Keiji’s crown of black mess, locks reaching out in all directions, never to each other. His hair swings from one side to another as his head and body rocks along the beats of the club, drowning in the sea of bodies. His skin shines from perspiration, eyes closed, hands roaming along his figure, head, neck, waist, brushing his fingers against his black v-neck tee, seemingly longing for another body to touch. As the pre-chorus comes in slow, he matches its pace as his hips flow like waves, movement absent of care. The beat picks up its speed and his eyes flutter open as he moves through the crowd with ease, the song still influencing his body as his arms raise up, his delicate long fingers exposed. The song halts for a second until it transitions to a sultry beat of muffled bass, an invitation for strangers’ to kiss in a heartbeat. Keiji is no stranger to such rituals, especially now since he himself is in dire need of such diversion. But when Keiji reaches the edge of the pit, he notices the white-gray hair with black streaks on the second landing, a distraction. 

Gunmetal blue meets honey gold. Deity meets mortal. A silent agreement ensues.

It’s not as if it’s their first time. Koutarou and Keiji’s meetings remain purely out of coincidence and brief. In the university grounds, in the cafe, in this very club’s bathroom. And it’s always the same thing; lingering looks, yearning and enticing. As if the other provides the answers one needs. And they know. Exceptions, distractions, all of it. They watch each other, a prey on headlights. It’s longer, contemplating what to do next. Then, as if one, Keiji extends his index towards Koutarou and bends it towards himself, once, twice, as Koutarou downs the alcohol, still maintaining eye contact. _Come here. Wait for me._

Exchanging pleasantries was unnecessary. They knew what they came for. It had been brewing for weeks ever since the start of their dance and it had to happen when both wished to take risks. _Destroy me to forget. Build me up and I’ll believe again._

It was a Friday night at a local club. It was a Friday night at Keiji’s passenger seat. Exceptions and distractions. Deities and mortals wreck havoc at the scenery as two become one. A bond was born out of sacrilegious circumstances. The heavens continue to lament. Keiji finally forgets. Koutarou finally prays. 

\----

**Parts of a Prayer**

**Adoration**

It starts with worship. 

Koutarou thinks Keiji is beautiful. No, he fervently believes that he is the most beautiful creature he has ever laid his eyes on. His interests piqued during one fateful afternoon as he was thinking about his mother and the gods that she talked about. _I wonder if gods really are real,_ he thinks. Seated against the windows of the second floor hall, overlooking the picturesque university campus, he catches a glimpse of someone seated on the lawn, alone and reading a book against the setting sun, its rays illuminating this stranger’s face. He remains unbothered and Koutarou continues to examine him. From afar he could see a prominent jawline, black locks, lean muscle peeking from his plain blue shirt, and elegance. Pure, unadulterated magnificence. How his long fingers flip through the pages from the current one to the next, how the pad of his fingers caress the edges as he reads through, immersed in the world painted by the hardbound novel in his hands. Koutarou no longer thinks whether gods are real or not. He just remembers his mother’s words, and the thrill of disobedience. Just as he is lost in his own world, the stranger looks up. Koutarou maintains the contact, a purposeful stare. Later, he will talk about it to his friends and learn his name. Later, the stranger will mention it to his roommate and learn the staring man’s name. It thus leads to a series of looks and meetings that can only be described as serendipitous.

Still maintaining the balance on the reclined seat, Keiji leans forward, caging the older man with his thighs at his sides, and wraps his fingers around Koutarou’s neck. Koutarou focuses on his breathing, with Keiji’s heavenliness distracting his mere desire to live. Their mouths meet, exploring every crevice, tongues dancing, starving for more excitement. Keiji tasted like vodka, Koutarou tasted like the euphoria of sin. He whispers sweet prayers of affection against Keiji’s neck, his hands wrapped around his waist. Keiji whispers obscenities. _It’s not the same thing,_ Koutarou thinks. _But it will do._ Keiji’s hands roam from Koutarou’s neck, down and under his white silk button down polo, desperate for skin as he makes contact with bare muscles. They stay in that position for a while, even after they’ve had their fill, chest heaving, trying to return to their original tempo. Koutarou is now close enough to see Keiji’s eyes, vast, boundless, eager to be looked at.

Deities are demanding, Koutarou learns, and his willingness to do every plea grants him blessings worth tenfold. 

**Contrition**

Penitence comes a week later in the form of bent knees and arched backs. Against Koutarou’s countertop and no longer in the confines of Keiji’s vehicle, songs of praise escape Koutarou’s lips, his forearm still covering his mouth, fearing the profane sounds he is making. Keiji looks up from beneath, surrounded by fabric at his ankles, and makes contact with eyes looking down on him. His head moves up and down, anticipating for more. _Go ahead, make a noise._ Koutarou reaches down to grab a fist full of black locks, tainting that halo around Keiji’s head. A low, soft hum is heard, a call for perpetuation of such acts. Koutarou groans as he reaches the pinnacle of impiety. _I’ve made a mess,_ Koutarou tells Keiji as they clean up. Keiji chuckles and replies, _No, we made a masterpiece._ Koutarou’s heart beats a little faster, thumps a little harder, and he realizes he did not think of the exact consequences of such asinine behavior. He just wished it wasn’t what he thought it was.

Later into the night Koutarou returns the favor and pleases the god. Another mess, another masterpiece. Everything remains to be part of the elaborate agenda the two individuals had. A challenge to the gods, a challenge to time and emotions. As he brings him closer and closer to climax, Keiji calls out a name he does not recall having. Koutarou breaks off and glances towards the man. Realization washes over his perfect countenance as tears trickle down Keiji’s cheeks, muttering apologies, vowing to forget. It was a blunder made in the heat of the moment. Despite the pain he did not recall having, Koutarou moves again forward, below, and beyond. Hush toned pleasure continues, hindered by the fear of another blasphemy. One eventually comes out, a low, soft moan enough to describe the intensity of his desperation. He decides to forgive and learns the imperfections of gods make when vulnerable. He apologizes back silently as they drift off in each others’ arms. _Forgive me, I’ve tainted you. I’ve made you human._

Deities cry, Koutarou learns, and he has difficulty sleeping knowing this truth.

**Thanksgiving**

Company, they realize, comes in many forms, forms without having to shed a part of themselves. Forms such as a late Friday night in Keiji’s apartment, both men sprawled against the living room, mountains of academic papers and failures scattered around them. Koutarou appreciates the beauties of having a junior in philosophy, Keiji appreciates Koutarou’s insights on literature. They steal glimpses without expecting for the other to return it. Koutarou notices Keiji running his fingers through his hair when frustrated, the halo he sees shakes and turns but remains in place. Keiji sees how Koutarou tilts his head, wrinkles his nose and pouts when he is confused. _How endearing,_ he thinks. He then spots a turntable at the corner of the room, a gift. Keiji stands up, finds a record on the basket near it and puts it on. He then returns to Koutarou, who saw everything, and offers his hand. The song begins to start, signalled by a woman’s voice accompanied by a piano riff. Koutarou chuckles, but he maintains his position.

 _We’re allowed to do other things, right?_ Keiji replies, understanding hesitation. Koutarou thinks and places his hand in Keiji’s. They begin to move as the trumpet joins in the melody.

Keiji wraps his arms around Koutarou’s neck, his fingers finding solace in each other as it rests on his nape. Koutarou puts his hands on Keiji’s waist. They swing to and fro, their feet shuffling through papers. These get folded, crumpled, yet their eyes remain on each other, tired smiles plastered on their faces. They continue to sway from left to right, slowly, all around the living room. Just then, Keiji’s fingers run down along Koutarou’s spine towards his waist, both of them still continuing a constant flow. Koutarou shivers at the act. Keiji holds onto Koutarou’s hand on his waist and grasps it as he raises it up. A sentimental waltz is ignited as Koutarou leads Keiji around. As the trumpet solo begins to ensue, Keiji puts his head on Koutarou’s chest, leaving no space at all for them to breathe. They both close their eyes and listen to the sweet yet melancholic tune emanate from the spinning record. 

It is a song for soulmates, something they are not. It is a tune for reminiscing old love, something they do not have. They settle on the facade of it all, something they can do instead. They dance until the song is nothing more than silence. Koutarou gives thanks to this dance, to him, to them, to a fortunate glance. _If only that was all there is to it_.

Deities cannot fall in love with mortals, Koutarou learns. No matter how close they are, no matter how far they went. They never do. But, he sure hoped they did.

**Supplication**

An impending conclusion awaits the two, as the terms in the contract they’ve forged have been defied. _I can’t promise not to love you,_ Koutarou begins. _And I know you told me not to._ Keiji, on the other side of the table, at a coffee shop he will no longer go to, can only nod. _Then it ends here._ Their gray engagement ends on a Friday night.

They remain voiceless, remembering the year-long rendezvous. The kisses, the unions, the dances, the contentment run through their heads, like a film reeling in its final scenes. He asks that Keiji never forgets this, them, everything. _Our time was memorable, don’t you think?_ He says out loud. Keiji smirks, still there is pain. _It was. I wish it was longer._ The last sentence was omitted. _I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted,_ Koutarou responds. _I know._ Keiji says.

Koutarou wishes to offer Keiji to the world, to _him,_ to the name he called out in the first months. He knows Keiji couldn’t give Koutarou what he could give _him_ . He must now offer Keiji the life he wanted, free and liberated. Koutarou offers the deity back in the heavens where he belongs. He prays that Keiji will be fine, that he will now dance with the man of his dreams, leaning against _his_ chest, as they whisper sweet nothings to each other. But most of all, as he is a mortal and selfish, he prays fervently for the last time, that he doesn’t lose himself in the process of letting go the transgression he does not regret committing. He will look back and look at these exceptions, at the web of sins he has created. He grieves for the first and final time.

Keiji simply wishes he had time to learn how to love Koutarou. Properly, truly, free from malice. He wishes he could go back and apologize. But it ends here. It ends as gunmetal blue meets honey gold for the final time. It ends with the deity turning his back against the mortal. Exceptions and distractions cease to exist. Heaven rejoices. Keiji remembers. Koutarou renounces his faith. 

\----

It has been two years since then. Koutarou has graduated and moved on with his life, leaving his apartment, memories, faith and prayers. Now he’s back in this god forsaken place, on a Friday night. He wasn’t supposed to be here but as he was coerced by former classmates and college friends, he is now atop a bar stool with a drink in his hand on the first floor, surrounded by people he knows, people he has yet to know, and coincidentally, like fate said _for old times’ sake_ , people he knew. Because there, against the wall looking at the bodies moving in front of him, is the deity that started it all. 

There Keiji is, alone, against the red neon lights, looking lost and waiting to be found.

Koutarou remembers it all, how Keiji moved, how he danced like the gods forged him, made him into who he is to dance like that. He remembers how Keiji saw him, how he called him. He remembers how they committed desecration for the first time, how they danced in the living room, how he fell for a deity.

 _No,_ he says to himself. He did not fall for a deity. He fell for Keiji. Human, flawed, imperfect made perfect _for_ him, Keiji. Akaashi Keiji may be beautiful, but he is no god. He is not to be loved and feared, only loved.

Akaashi Keiji is no exception, Koutarou learns, finally. 

Just as Koutarou glances on a different person, like he _felt_ him, Keiji returns the stare. Shocked, eyes-wide, with trembling hands holding onto a cup, Keiji sees Koutarou for the first time. Keiji remembers his white-gray hair with black streaks against the blue neon lights on the second landing, he remembers their first kiss in his car, their first time in Koutarou’s apartment. Their dance to the record given by the man he tried to forget. He plays that record once in a while and only remembers his dance with Koutarou.

Bokuto Koutarou is no distraction, Keiji learns, finally.

The heavens anticipate this affair. Gods and mortals alike pray that they do it right this time.

Gunmetal blue meets honey gold. Keiji meets Koutarou. Once more, once again. A silent rekindling ensues.

**Author's Note:**

> FUN FACT: Bokuto's role was supposed to be Tsukishima's, but after almost being done with the fic, it just didn't feel right so I changed it.
> 
> SONGS I LISTENED TO (that you can also listen to, for optimal experience):  
> For Keiji dancing in the club: [The Louvre by Lorde](https://open.spotify.com/track/5q4BpnMrYEFzLO0dYODj6J?si=Yw585a_jReC6EpSA3MwTRQ)  
> For the slow dancing in Keiji's apartment: [They Can't Take That Away From Me by Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong](https://open.spotify.com/track/1V4NaFlrUCK49MXcdOcVeS?si=n5z1393AQPuPhUvxWIJc7A)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/inflamist)


End file.
